Macavity (omn_macavity) wrote in apocalypsetales,

One month A.I.

It's been a month since the meteors hit.

In that time, the five of us - Happy Bob, Dana, Phil, Chris and I - have pretty much done the impossible: we've survived. We're not particularly comfortable (who would be, when you've got winter weather in the middle of summer?), but we've managed it. Right now we're holed up in an abandoned Connecticut motel. Nobody around, but - miracle of miracles - it has power! And heat! And a working Internet connection!

I figured I'd better leave a message for sci, just in case he has a chance to get back online. (Doubtful, but you never know.)
We managed to scrounge up some equipment at various warehouses and abandoned military bases on our trek. Managed to get hold of a hardened laptop, a few sets of skis, and some snowshoes - we had to abandon Serenity off the Taconic . . . with no snowplows to clear the roads, well, she just couldn't handle the snow. We did hide her as best we could, though.

We're about a week out from Mystic, Connecticut. Hopefully the harbor won't be iced over and we can get out to sea. We've even made a couple of travoises out of Stokes basket stretchers we salvaged from a pair of crashed rescue-squad trucks - loaded our gear into them, strapped a pair of skis onto each of 'em, and we've been taking turns dragging them as we trek towards Mystic. If Mystic doesn't work out, we can always try Groton.

I wonder what happened to the submarine base at Groton . . . is it abandoned? Is there anything we can use?

 . . . How many people does it take to run a submarine, anyway?

 . . . We looted a couple of military-surplus stores for equipment on our way - there was nobody around, and we needed the gear. I'm not proud of the fact, but we had to do it. At least we've got more food now: the back room of one had cases of surplus MREs. And we swapped our civvy backpacks for some ALICE packs and tactical webbing. Even managed to get our hands on some arctic patrol clothing, which we've been using.

Sci, I hope you're alive, and that you get this message. We're trying to find some way to get out to you.

Maybe we ought to see if we can get some fishing equipment before we leave port . . . if we leave port.

 . . . God, I miss Serenity.

I loved that little car, you know? I could always tell when she was hurting before she keened. I knew every little sign of trouble so well . . . well enough that I knew when something was going to fail before it did.

And then I abandoned her.

It feels like I backshot my best friend - like I left her to die. I know she was a car, but she wasn't "just" a car - she was my car, dammit! My car . . . the first one I ever owned. She was special.

i know I didn't have a choice - but that doesn't make it any easier.

I hope I can get back to her after this is all over.
Tags: shoemaker earth
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